Olive Juice
by SarahCullen17
Summary: Because even Domward loves a little feisty disobedience. A BDSM comedy involving graphic lemons and one delicious spanking. This is not your typical D/s story, because here the characters actually laugh and tease. A lemony-sweet one-shot, rated M! AH.


**Warning: This is a one-shot of the lemony kind. Of the dominant/submissive kind. There is a spanking and some sex. But it is not abuse or rape! Also, there is language and crude humor. You've been warned.**

**Author's Note: I adore BDSM fics, but they are always so damn serious. Wouldn't a Dom really love to have a feisty submissive? A challenge, you could call it. So I wrote a Domward who loves to have a playful, disobedient Subella. Maybe I just have a sick sense of humor and no one will find this hot or funny...but I've gotten a lot of chuckles and satisfaction out of it.**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns "Twilight." I simply pervert the characters. Also, I do not live or practice the BDSM lifestyle, so do not use this as a guide to a healthy Dom/sub relationship! You would be barking up the wrong tree, dear.**

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* * *

"Olive Juice" Bella's POV  
**

I call his iPhone. It's listed as the "Horny Hotline" in my cell phone, because well, that's what it is.

Edward Cullen is so ridiculously rich that he can afford to have two different phones. His BlackBerry is his life compacted into a little chunk of plastic-names, numbers, emails, he even types presentations into it when I'm driving. He usually calls me on his BlackBerry to ask if I want to go see a movie or to ask what kind of wine I want...or to tell me he loves me. You know that Stevie Wonder song "I Just Called to Say I Love You"? That's my Edward, condensed into a few minutes. I love his BlackBerry calls.

But his iPhone-well, that's something entirely different.

The iPhone is reserved for only me-for his _Isabella_. On the BlackBerry, I'm Bella. On the iPhone, I'm Isabella. Why the iPhone? It has a great camera and lots of room for..._fun_...pictures. It also has a vibrator application that he likes to sneak under my dress when we're at the theater or in the car. Bella would never allow Edward to do that. But Isabella would-and she does quite frequently.

I love my sexy alter ego. Almost as much as I love _his_ sexy alter ego.

It rings once before he answers it. "Hello, Isabella. I must admit that I'm surprised to answer my iPhone."

I chuckle. "Hello, Master."

"May I ask the reason you're calling my favorite phone, sweet girl?"

I giggle at his businesslike tone. It reeks of sex and office supplies-which isn't a bad combination, if Edward Cullen is taking you on his desk and using a ruler to remind you who's boss.

"I was just thinking earlier," I say coyly.

"What was that filthy mind of yours thinking?" he prods in good nature.

"Master, I don't think I have a dirty mind," I lie firmly.

"Watch the tone, Isabella," he warns, his velvet voice husky with need. My panties dampen. "And don't lie to me. What were you thinking about, my little wench?"

He knows what I was thinking about-spankings and velvet ropes and and the V of his abdomen that disappears under his jeans-but I play along. "It's going to rain tonight," I muse. "I've been craving a quiet night in, maybe with pizza and a horror movie so you hold me tight..."

"Isabella, I'm shocked," he purrs. "You're calling my iPhone for a quiet night in?"

"Well," I hedge. "I would be the only one being quiet...gagged, maybe..."

"That's what the iPhone is for," he says dryly. I know he's agreeing with me, even if he is trying to sound detached. I know better. He's probably already stroking himself under his desk, planning out a scene...

"Yes, I think I want to see a ball gag in that beautiful mouth tonight," he says. "Or my cock."

I nearly gulp. Fuck. Me.

_Please_, my vajayjay cries.

"I'll tell you what," he continues. "I'll be home at six. Have a pizza from Stromboli's and a bottle of red wine on the table. I want you naked and kneeling by my chair."

"Now we're talking," I reply in my best seductress voice. "I'll be naked and wet for you, Master."

"Mmm, I'm already hard." _I knew it. Have fun in the men's bathroom._ _Wish I was there_. "I can't wait to tie you up and fuck that pretty little pussy. I'll see you in the dining room at six sharp."

"Thank you, my Master," I enthuse smoothly.

"You're very welcome, sweet girl," he replies. "Oh, and Isabella?"

"Yes sir?"

"No olives."

I chuckle darkly. "Yes, Master. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, lovely. I love you so much."

I smile involuntarily. "I love you too, Master."

I hang up the phone, knowing exactly what I'll order: a medium pizza with extra cheese and sausage.

And olives.

* * *

At 5:58, I'm waiting by his chair in the dining room, naked as the day I was born. I know that one of the hired help could walk in at any moment and see me, but I know that doesn't Matter. Master wants me here, and he is never late. I'm already being disobedient enough tonight.

My ass tingles as I think of the spanking I hope to receive.

There is a bottle of red wine on the table, with a delectable Stromboli's creation. The green olives stand out proudly, waiting to be eaten. I don't have the heart to tell them that they'll be thrown out tonight.

If we ever get around to eating.

I shiver in anticipation as I hear the front door open. His expensive Italian shoes step through the foyer and into the kitchen. I'm on my knees, hands folded, head down. Finally, he steps into the dining room.

"Lovely, Isabella," he compliments me. "You know, I'm rather tired. I don't think I can feed myself."

Ha. Cocky bastard. Lucky for him, I love to feed him. And dress him. And bathe him. And blow him.

Fucking him is pretty good, too.

Whatever my Master needs.

I say nothing, knowing it is not my place to speak. I simply pull his chair out for him. He sits and ruffles my hair lovingly.

"Stand up and pour us some wine," he murmurs.

I immediately stand, still diverting my eyes from his. I haven't earned the right to look at his beautiful body or face yet. I probably won't earn it tonight after he discovers the defect in his pizza.

_Yes, please,_ begs my vajayjay. She really needs a name.

I steadily pour us both some wine, knowing I cannot drink until he is satisfied. His needs always come before mine.

"Very good," he praises me. "I'm rather thirsty, Isabella."

I pick up his crystal wine glass and bring it to his lips. He takes a few swallows. "Thank you," he tells me.

"You're very welcome, Master." I want to lick the remnants of the wine off his lips-I've watched his mouth so much that I know they're there-but I hold back.

"I would like to eat now," he hints.

I smile, still not looking at him, and pull the closed pizza box toward us. I open it and pull out a large, steaming slice before putting it on his china plate.

"That looks gre-" He suddenly freezes. "Isabella..."

"Yes, Master?" I purr.

"What was my very specific command before I hung up?"

I feign innocence. "I don't remember, Master."

I hear him inhale sharply. He's angry. And I'm horny. I hope he notices my glistening pussy...that is currently screaming for attention.

"Isabella," he says again in a dark tone. "I believe I requested no olives."

A shiver shoots down my spine, desire curls in my belly. "Oh," I say, trying to sound sly and contrite at the same time. "Yes, I do seem to recall that..."

"Look at me!" he snaps. I do, and I nearly come when I see his face. His jaw is tense, as if he's gritting his teeth, and those perfect lips are mashed together, but there is a twinkle in his lovely green eyes. He knows I'm being feisty and disobedient on purpose.

And he loves it.

"Why did you order olives on my pizza?" he asks me.

"I didn't mean to," I lie, batting my eyelashes.

"Mmm, my little wench," he purrs. "You have gotten yourself in a load of shit."

_Whatever you say, my Master, my love, my own personal Sir Fucks-a-Lot. Every girl craves a knight in shining armor...of course I prefer you with no armor._

"I'm going to punish you," he decides. "But how?"

He already knows how. He probably had a back-up plan in case of olives as soon as he hung up the phone. He is just teasing me, prolonging the suspense and anticipation.

"I could send you to bed without dinner and without a climax," he murmurs, and I want to scream, "No!"

"But then I would still be left with a disgusting pizza." He strokes his chin. I want to lick it. "I could make you pick all the olives out, and that would be your only dinner. And the only way you would serve me would be to feed me. Like earlier, no climax. I don't even think you deserve my cum in your mouth."

Damn. He's caught on to my deliberate disobedience and he isn't amused.

"Or," he says huskily, and my heart turns a backflip. "I could spank that fine ass of yours and then we'll see if you've learned your lesson."

_Oh, yes, please,_ my vajayjay says again, as if her extensive vocabulary has been seriously impaired from moisture overload. Viola. That's a good name for my little friend.

I simply look at him from underneath my eyelashes, silently begging.

"I like that idea," he murmurs. "On your feet, Isabella."

This is not what I expected. I thought he would make me crawl to the whipping bench in the playroom-that man is one hell of an ass man-or toss me over his shoulder and carry me. But I rise, eyes down.

"Bend over the table," he tells me, and I suddenly blush. Yes, I've been naked in this house for the past few minutes, and anyone could have seen me. Tyler the poolboy or Mike the gardener or Lauren the stablegirl...

But this is different. They've never had an inkling that Edward Cullen spanks his betrothed. The playroom is soundproof and always locked. Running around your fiance's house naked and getting spanked by him like a small child is always worse than just running around your fiance's house naked.

Viola is arguing with me about this one, but I ignore her. She's one hell of a kinky bitch. Lady Gaga wishes she could be the goddess that is Viola.

"Isabella," he growls. "I won't ask you again. It doesn't matter if anyone is watching us. You will do as I say."

He knows me so well. I quickly remember my place...and the delicious burning between my thighs. I bend over the expensive mahogany table, ass in the air, and my face burning with embarrassment. Mike the gardener is really a horny bastard. He'd probably love this little show.

Maybe that's why Master chose this room. This scene. Maybe he gave Mike a pair of binoculars to watch from the shrubs outside. Master does have an exhibitionist streak...

No, that's ridiculous. Master is jealous and possessive. He doesn't like for anyone to see Viola.

Especially when it comes to Mike.

"Count and thank me, Isabella," Master says, his voice strained. I can hear his fingers scrape against his pants as he rubs himself.

The first smack lands hard on the fleshiest part of my ass. "One," I say, nearly in ecstasy. "Thank you, Sir."

His hand lands again on my left ass cheek. "Two. Thank you, Sir."

Right ass cheek this time. "Three. Thank you, sir."

I positively adore the way the pain spreads throughout my nerves and turns into pleasure, shooting straight to my core and down into my pussy. But by the time he gets to eight, the smacks have gone from erotic to painful.

But a good painful. _Always_ a good painful. I'm a bit masochistic.

"Eight. Thank you, Sir," I gush, my ass on fire.

I'm shocked to hear the unbuckling of his jeans, and I think that I'll be lucky enough to earn a good cock and pussy pounding. But we've played so much, I know his noises. And the slide of the belt is unmistakable.

The belt? Is he that angry? I instantly wonder why the hell I did this._ They're olives, for crying out loud. You know your worthy, exalted, perfect Master hates olives._

Or is he just that horny?

He softly rubs my ass, leaving trails even more fiery. "You're almost the shade of pink I want you to be," he says in a silken voice.

And then the belt lands on the roundest, most painful part of my ass. I yelp. "Nine. Thank you, Sir."

His fingers trace my pussy. "Isabella, you are enjoying this a little too much," he chuckles.

And I really am. I haven't noticed how fucking turned on I an until now. I can feel liquid drip down my inner thigh. Viola is going to explode any minute now.

Slap! The belt hits my ass again. "Ten. Thank you, Sir!" I nearly shout.

"God, I can't do this anymore," he grunts before picking up my ankles. I gasp as he pulls my legs up, so my upper half is resting on the table. His rock-hard cock slides into me, and he pounds me hard.

I'm not allowed to vocalize or come without his permission. I silently pray I'll be allowed to come. Viola is saying a few Hail Marys and searching for her rosary. We have had enough punishment for some goddamned olives and we want to come, damn it!

Even though, right now, we love olives. And not for the taste, either. I smile devilishly to myself.

"Wrap those sexy legs around my torso," he commands.

I do so, and he somehow transfers me down to the floor. He positions me so my hands are supporting my weight, like a wheelbarrow race. "Don't you dare let yourself fall," he commands, unwinding my legs again and holding on to them. He rams in and out of me so deeply...

I'm so slippery and hot. I know my orgasm is close. My arms are wobbly...

_Come on, Isabella. Don't make yourself fall. Don't disappoint him._ _Don't disappoint Viola._

"Darling?" he murmurs, suddenly putting his finger to my clit and grinding on it. "You...may...come! And scream!"

I do exactly that as an orgasm takes me over. Viola tightens around him, and he grunts as he releases into me. Still, I can't let my arms rest...

Damn. Talk about intense.

Master collapses into the floor, laying me down so I'm lying on my stomach and face. I'm breathing hard and fast.

"That was incredible," he says simply.

I say nothing. I'm still swimming in post-coital bliss.

Olives are suddenly my favorite food. I think Viola agrees.

"Mmm." He rolls over and buries his face in the hair covering my neck. "How is that pretty pink ass feeling?"

"It hurts, Sir," I admit. "But in a very good way."

"The belt wasn't too much?"

"I love your belt, Master," I confess with a blush.

"I know you do," he says darkly.

I raise my head up as I hear footsteps in the hallway. I can't see who it is, but my face is very, very hot. Someone may have seen that amazing spanking and fuckery...

_Who cares?_ Viola pants.

Of course, the Bella side of me is freaking out.

_You're a fucking nun,_ Viola snarls. _Okay, Isabella, time to fuck again._

She's really rather insatiable.

Master stands up. I don't look at him, but I can hear him snapping pictures on his iPhone. "I'm rather proud of my work," he said smugly, tracing a hand on my ass. "I've never seen a more lovely color."

I flinch at the contact. It still hurts like Hell, even though I'm ready to put Viola in the boxing ring with Master's cock again.

"Stand up and look at me," he says, and I obey. He has his pants on the table and is rummaging in the pockets. Finally, he pulls out a pair of blue lace crotchless panties.

I try not to groan.

"Put these on," he tells me, and I have no choice. I slide them on, wincing at the scrape of the lace on my tender, burning skin. My pussy is completely exposed for him, but my ass is still being punished.

"Perfect," he smiles wickedly. "I'm sure those panties will make for interesting sport when I take you again tonight. You'll probably feel some remorse for those olives when you ride me."

God, that lace will be scratchy against my tender skin...I shiver delicately as I remember the sensations.

And then a thought suddenly occurs to me. _How in the world...?_

I have to stop the spread of a smile on my face as a plan hatches in my head. I'll pay for it, but it will definitely get me into the playroom.

_Us,_ Viola sniffs. _It will get** us** into the playroom._

I purposely open my mouth, and then snap it shut as if I "just remembered" to close it.

He falls for it. "Do you have a question, Isabella?"

"Can I see the pictures?" I ask shyly.

"Of course," he says, pulling his phone out, finding the photo album, and handing it to me.

I make a show of going through the pictures. Finally, quick as a flash of lightning, I have pulled up his call history.

"I knew it!" I shout. "You called Stromboli's to verify my order! That's how you knew to bring scratchy panties-because you knew I would be intentionally disobedient. Because I_ love_ your spankings. You went and brought some panties when you found out I ordered olives!"

There is a look of pure amusement on his face. "I believe I gave you permission to only look at the pictures," he says wryly. "And I believe that you just stepped out of bounds, Isabella."

He's mad, but he's not angry, if that makes sense. Mad is good. Angry is bad. I try not to giggle as he picks up the belt and raises an eyebrow at me. I squeal, knowing now that we're really just teasing, and run down the hall and into the living room. Master is a Dom, but he gives me a lot of room to play. I'm allowed to provoke him, and he will never hurt me badly when we're just playing like this.

He laughs as he follows me through the house. Of course he catches me and bends me over a recliner, belt held in the air...

The sound of glass breaking sounds behind us. We both turn to see what it is.

Ms. Cope, the housekeeper, has a feather duster in her hand, and she is frozen as she stares at us with wide eyes. There is a pool of glass around her feet. She has obviously dropped a vase. I nearly lose it as I realize what she is seeing: me, wearing crotchless panties, bent over a recliner arm, while a naked Edward is about to smack my ass with a belt.

The elderly woman is literally in a state of shock.

"I'm sorry," Edward sputters, quickly moving behind the recliner to cover himself. "I thought you had gone home, Mrs. Cope." He looks to me for help, but I know how to pay him back. I get back into submissive mode and drop to my knees, head down.

"Mr. Cullen," Mrs. Cope says. "What is this?"

Edward coughs uncomfortably. "I was just teasing Bella...we, um, play these games together."

He nudges me in the ass with his foot. "Help me out," he whispers.

I continue to act like a perfect submissive, staying quiet, back straight, head down. I'm not embarrassed to be naked in front of Mrs. Cope. The old biddy has all the lady parts I have.

"Miss Swan," Mrs. Cope asks fearfully. "Should I call the authorities?"

"Oh my god!" I exclaim, panicking. "No, Mrs. Cope. Edward has never been abusive to me. We were just playing, I swear." I pray she didn't hear that incredibly erotic spanking I just received.

"Okay," she says softly, looking relieved. "Mr. Cullen, I'll turn in a letter of resignation tomorrow."

Edward simply nods. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Cope. You've been an excellent employee. However, I understand..."

She nods and walks out of the room without cleaning up the glass.

I collapse into giggles, standing up and falling against Edward's chest. He's laughing too, and he wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

"That was the most interesting scene we've had in a while," I laugh. "How much trouble am I in?"

"Heaps," he chuckles good-naturedly. "I think your punishment is going to be...being my housekeeper until I find a new one." He kisses my temple lovingly.

"Ooh, I like it," I reply. "Buy me a French maid outfit...and some fuck-me stilettos."

He groans then, and I feel his erection against my stomach. "Fuck," I repeat.

He groans again. He likes a dirty mouth.

"Fuck fuck fuckety fuck."

"Isabella, enough," he whispers in my ear. "Are you going to run from me again?"

"I can't make any promises," I reply like a smartass.

He grins. "Playroom...now."

Oh, hell yes.

Viola and I _really_ love olives.

* * *

_Love it? Hate it? Love olives? Hate olives?_

_Well, I love reviews, so why don't you throw me a bone?  
_


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